19. Rian
Nineteen
Rian
The sight that greets me as the lift doors part has acid churning in my stomach. I stride with purpose towards Catriona’s desk where Trevor leans over the divider, drooling.
I’m not surprised. Fuck, she was sexy last night, her hair loose, flowing like a golden river down her back, halfway down to the pert backside that filled her jeans perfectly.
I could hardly keep my eyes from the tempting swell of her breasts through her tight top while wondering if she was wearing another white bra.
Knowing the colour of her nipples hidden inside the cups…
I was filled with a strong urge to drag her out of the pub and lock her up in my apartment.
I forced myself to leave before I did something stupid in public.
Like killing Trevor for looking at her. Or burying my face in her hair.
A precious diamond, her cousin had called her. I’ve mistaken her for a block of ice, but she’s undoubtedly a clear-cut diamond hiding behind her thick wall of rejection and ugly suits.
Her hair is in a ponytail today rather than the normal bun, and it sways seductively over her back as she notices me coming her way. My pulse picks up a beat as our eyes connect. I rip my gaze from her and face my new arch-enemy.
“Trevor, can you nip into my office for a sec?” I ask briskly. I can’t erase his knowledge of Catriona’s beauty, but I’ll absolutely keep him too busy to hang around her.
The day doesn’t get much better. Dad is on my case, again, which leaves me stewing with anger.
I’ve put in a lot more effort at work lately.
But, of course, he’ll never notice that.
He only sees what he wants to see – which is me failing.
He has Smyth on his side, the senior partner, trying to trip me up.
Constantly asking for updates on minor details.
It wouldn’t surprise me if the prick starts questioning commas and full stops.
I’m sure there’s black steam rising from my scalp.
Lunch with Mum is a welcome relief, but spotting Trevor hover by Catriona’s desk the moment I get back doesn’t help.
Fury and possessiveness simmer in my veins.
The same possessiveness that made me head to the pub last night.
When I heard that Catriona was going – she never usually does – wild horses couldn’t keep me at home.
Going to the pub was a mistake. It made her more real. It blurred the imaginary boundaries of the office walls, and was an unwelcome reminder that we’re playing with fire, with real life. Real passion. Real feelings.
Yes, bring on the headache.
The day from hell is finally crawling to an end, and it’s later than I’d normally leave.
I can practically taste the red wine I’ll have when I get home.
Yes, that’s my plan – the second I get through my door, I’m going to open a bottle, turn off my phone and put on the Jeremy Clarkson series everyone has been talking about for the last few years, that I’ve never got around to seeing.
All. By. Myself. And I’ll not give the blonde diamond a second thought.
I get up from my desk and head out into the almost empty main office to leave a note on Orla’s desk with some instructions for tomorrow.
She’s old school and prefers written notes to email.
Then I see him, Trevor, sauntering – again – towards Catriona’s desk, with his jacket slung over his shoulder.
What is he still doing here? And will that man ever give up?!
Catriona’s ponytail falls over her shoulder and onto her chest as she locks files in her drawers, her bag already on her desk. Trevor’s intentions are clear as day to any man who has ever tried to chat up a woman. He wants to walk her out of the office and probably persuade her to go for a drink.
Despite having the urge to run, I calmly make my way over. Trevor is leaning on the desk divider, a charming smile covering his ugly face.
“Miss Taylor!” I bark.
Her gaze snaps to mine, her eyebrows raised at the sharpness in my voice. I’m sure she’s had enough of my shitty mood for one day, but she’s about to get another dose.
“Mr Kearney?”
“I need you to check the latest amendments to the O’Toole contract before you go.”
It’s with sick pleasure I watch Trevor’s face fall, but the irritation displayed on Catriona’s face and the coldness that fills her eyes doesn’t please me. Oh hell no, it turns me on – big time. God, I’m addicted to her defiance.
“I’ll have it for you first thing in the morning,” she says in a clipped tone.
“No, I need it tonight.”
Turning on my heel, I stride back into my office.
Fuck, I’m a complete dick.
* * *
Thirty-five minutes later, she stands in front of my desk, the report in hand and ice-cold anger in her blue eyes.
Thirty-five long minutes where I could have been at home drinking wine and finding out if all the fuss about Clarkson is worth it.
Thirty-five minutes spent waiting for Catriona to walk through my office door.
She doesn’t disappoint. Tension builds low in my spine and my heart thuds hard in anticipation as she only-just-short-of throws the file onto my desk. Resentment oozes from her tense body.
“Your report, sir.”
Not even attempting to take the file, I lean back in my chair, stapling my fingertips, more alert and alive than I’ve been all day. The snarl on Catriona’s lips is so different to when they part on a moan. What will they look like parted for another reason, stretching around my cock?
“I’m not sure I like your tone,” I say slowly.
A sharp intake of breath coupled with her chin lifting.
That easy.
One sentence, and her body reacts to me.
Seven small words, and she’s in my web. The blood is pumping fast through my body, swishing in my ears.
“Well, it’s all you’ll get,” she snaps, but there’s a low quiver to her tone.
“Your disrespect is not welcome. It will have to be dealt with.” I grin, but it’s more a flash of teeth than anything else. “Punished.”
Her nostrils flare and her eyes lose some of the coldness, darken. “Y-you can’t do this…”
“Watch me.” Slowly, I rise from my chair and walk around the desk. She’s fisting the sleeves of her jacket as I pass her to lock the door. The office is likely empty, but I’m not taking chances. All common sense may have left me – yet again – but it doesn’t mean that I’m careless.
Stepping up behind her, I whisper close to her ear, “You’ve been a bad girl…”
Goosebumps raise across her flesh, and her shoulders hike up on a big inhale as I reach around her, undoing the buttons of her jacket. With a patience and calm I don’t feel, I remove the jacket and leave her in her grey, short-sleeved blouse.
“You’ve been disrespectful, and that is very naughty.” I fist her ponytail, forcing her head back. Her slender neck arches so beautifully. The pad of my thumb traces her pulse as I soften my tone. “You know I don’t like naughty girls. Bad girls need to be punished so they can be…good girls.”
“Ah…”
I hide my smirk at her revealing moan while my chest swells in pride at unlocking her kink. My diamond is a sucker for a bit of praise.
“You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”
She licks her lips but stays silent. I tug her hair.
“Yes!”
“Yes, what?”
“I-I want to be…”
I brush the tip of my nose up her exposed neck, loving the way her breath stutters. “You want to be…” I prompt.
“I want to be a good girl.” The words are whispered, but they could just as well have been shouted as heat bursts through my groin. I suck on the sensitive skin under her earlobe.
“I wonder what kind of punishment you deserve today.”
I let go of her hair and wrap my hand around her throat, squeezing lightly.
She whimpers but doesn’t fight me. I squeeze harder, and her pulse increases under my fingers.
God, my own is running wild. This power trip has my brain sizzling.
What I wouldn’t do for some lengths of rope right now.
I didn’t even wear a tie to work today. Instead, I rely on her obedience as I guide her arms behind her back and make her grab her elbows.
“Don’t move.”
I shift to stand in front of her. Her breasts are pressed tight against her grey shirt, the buttons strain against the fabric with every unsteady inhale.
I glimpse a black bra. I want to see it – I want to see what’s cupped in the bra – I want her to stand there, flashing me, humiliated yet yearning.
My hands shake as I undo the first button. But they steady as my dominance solidifies over her, this strong, independent woman who stands with arms clasped behind her back, allowing me to unbutton her shirt. What else she will let me do? Where is her limit?
I push her shirt open, but I don’t untuck it from her trousers.
It’s somehow more wicked to have her only partly undressed.
More seedy and desperate. Pink colours her cheeks and all the way down to her collarbone.
My mouth waters as I pull the cups of her black bra under her breasts.
I fill my hands with her soft flesh, and her nipples poke my palms as I squeeze.
“Ah…”
I immediately let go and tut. “This isn’t a reward, Miss Taylor, it’s punishment.”
I grab the plastic ruler from my desk. I don’t know why it’s there. A prehistoric office tool that has alternative uses.
“Now to the first part of your punishment.” The ruler swishes through the air and connects with her nipple.
“Ah – fuck!” she cries and tries to cover her breasts. I smack her arm with the ruler.
“I said, don’t move!”
Hesitantly, she brings them back, her fingers digging into her elbows.
She bites her lips and breathes heavily through her nose, forcing her chest forward as she readies herself.
My grip on the ruler turns white. Smack!
She whimpers as the hard plastic connects with her other nipple, but she holds my gaze, even as her eyes water… blue pools I could drown in.